


Tap

by CKBookish



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Baby Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Bruce Wayne returns from the time stream, Catherine tries to be a good parent, Drug Addiction, Gen, Homelessness, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Willis Todd is a bad parent, additional warnings in chapters, angst brings you tears and onions bring you tears therefore angst is onions, crack out the tissues my friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 01:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29867400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CKBookish/pseuds/CKBookish
Summary: Bruce returns home from the time stream, haunted by phantoms and dreams. Dreams of a past that can't be real.But all of that wouldn't be so bad if his home didn't feel so empty in the absence of one of his children.  Jason, refuses to talk to him or even answer his calls and Bruce can't figure out why or what he did wrong, not after they had mended their fences before his disappearance.Meanwhile,Catherine struggles to hold it together for her and Jason as life falls apart around them.  When all she has to give is love she does her best to give it all.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne and Jason Todd, Catherine Todd & Jason Todd
Comments: 35
Kudos: 128
Collections: Gotham Square (Batfam Discord Fics)





	1. Delusions of Shelter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Batbirdies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batbirdies/gifts).



> Okay, so this has been in the works for a rather long time for the wonderful Batbirdies. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> WARNINGS for this chapter: depictions of homelessness of a main character (child and adult), and negative self thoughts and fever from cold exposure. That is all I can think of for this one. I will have warnings at the top of each chapter as some of them will be heavy, but I do promise comfort. 
> 
> I am hoping to do a biweekly posting schedule, but unfortunately I am once again in the middle of moving-- although this time not across the planet just the country and I have several other things going on as well so we will hope for the best. 
> 
> This (she says crossing her fingers hoping for the best) should be 11 chapters. So buckle up, grab the tissues and cry with me over this story that has been in my head for nearly 6 months.

If my breath does fail; I will tell you still.

If my arms do shake; my hands won’t fall.

For all the king’s horses and all the king’s men

couldn’t take my Love away again. 

* * *

  
  


Catherine pulled Jason closer to her as she stumbled down the dark road. Snow clung to her hair in thick clumps. Winter in Gotham was unforgiving, and this one was no exception. Snow gathered in the ditches and over the pavement, making the path slick and her shoes wet. She looked in the windows of the stores and cafes they passed. People inside were warm, and full. Their bellies’ didn’t rumble with hunger and their hair wasn’t oily from days without showering. 

They weren’t in the _cold_. 

She hated them. She hated them more than she could even allow herself to feel. She hated how they wouldn’t care or even know if she vanished into the snow forever. She hated that the strangers behind windows weren’t here in her place. 

She glanced down at Jason in her arms. He was too cold, she knew he was, even in his sleep he was still shivering slightly. But she had already given him her coat _and_ hat. He was as bundled as she could make him. 

It wasn’t enough. 

She cursed Willis under her breath for the umteeth time since they had been forced to abandon the mall on Smith Avenue. She wished she could go back in time and tell herself to walk out of that bar all those years ago, and go home. She wished she could tell herself about all the pain the man would cause her. 

But it was too late for that. He was in Jail. Six months. He would be locked up for six months. 

She and Jason had lost the apartment three weeks ago. She had only lasted a month and a half alone. It turned out working part time with a five year old and paying all the bills was near impossible. Then Jason had gotten sick and-- she hadn’t been able to find a sitter, when the daycare refused to take him-- it had become impossible. 

Five was too young to be home alone, and so she had been fired after a third missed shift. They missed the rent the next due date, and several couches later, she had run out of good will. She shifted so that Jason was on her right hip rather than left. He groaned but didn’t wake. 

Her throat burned and she held back a cough, making her eyes water. They had one more shelter to check. One more. 

Catherine’s feet ached. They had gone for what felt like miles. They had looked in six overnight shelters and three women’s refuges. All were full.

Her legs burned almost as bad as her throat did. She could hear men laughing and women giggling as doors to bars opened and closed sending out waves of heat. It sounded like a different world. Like she was hearing glimpses of a fairy kingdom she read about in books. She could see a couple sitting in the window laughing. They looked so in love. Catherine bit back a snort. Love never lead to anything good. The laughter and joy that they had didn’t seem real. She couldn’t imagine feeling it ever again. She turned away from the windows of color and trudged on in the black and white world of cold snow and dirty streets. 

She wondered absently if she could hide in the library tomorrow and stay there overnight. She should have thought of that earlier. 

“Mom?” 

Catherine jumped slightly. “Hi--” She broke off into a fit of coughs. 

Jason’s head rose from her shoulder. Catherine wished he wouldn’t look at her like that. He looked so scared. She wanted to pull the beanie down over his face to hide the look, but didn’t. She instead gave a watery smile, and whispered hello.

“Mom… It’s cold. I want to go home.”

Catherine grimaced. “I-- I know. But we can’t.”

“I want _Dad_.” Jason whined. “I want to go home and see Dad.”

She closed her eyes and didn’t answer. She just kept walking. 

He was crying. She could feel it. He had always been a quiet crier, but his body gave him away as he shook and trembled in her arms. The silence made her feel worse. She would rather he threw a fit and caused a scene. That’s what she deserved. That’s what he _should_ do. He should yell at her and tell her that she was horrible. He should tell her that she was a terrible mother. 

She reached up and pushed his head down to her chest. His tears tickled her skin. She shivered as the hot tears seemed to freeze in the cold air even as they slipped under her collar.

Catherine shuffled to a stop in front of the address still written in ink on her hand. Her toes had long been numb from cold. 

The shelter looked rather run down, she thought nervously. There was no security door, and it seemed to be in a building as old as the city. The door was covered in old rain stains and the bell didn’t work. 

Jason slipped from her arms to stand next to her. Catherine licked her lips and knocked on the door hard. The wait felt ages. Jason slipped his hand into hers and scooted closer. He was shaking, but she wasn’t sure if it was from crying or cold anymore. She tried to swallow and say something reassuring but her mouth was dry and her throat felt as if it had been filled with knives. 

The door opened with a creak and a wave of heat rushed over her. Jason seemed to straighten slightly. Catherine closed her eyes and relished the feeling of warmth. It didn’t last as the wind sucked it up and away into the streets behind them. The cold felt deeper in her when it had gone. 

“Me and--” a rough cough tore through her. “Me and my son are looking… for a place tonight.” 

The young girl in the doorway eyed the two of them for a long moment before stepping aside. The door closed with a click and Catherine felt something in her chest break. She bent down and let a fit of coughs take over. It felt as if her lungs were trying to escape. 

“Mom?” a small gloved hand was on her back. 

She straightened and brushed tears from her face. “I’m fine. I just-- I’m fine.”

Jason frowned but didn’t say anything. 

She turned back to the girl. “We need a place to sleep.” 

Catherine knew they looked a sore sight, her in nothing but a thick sweater, and Jason wearing what was obviously her coat over his own. They only had one small backpack between them. Jason’s gloves were a pair of miss matched socks slid over his hands and he had on a rather itchy watch cap that had been Catherine’s father’s once upon a time. 

Catherine shivered more now that she was fully in the warm. Somewhere at the back of her mind she knew that wasn’t good. 

The girl looked between them sadly. “We don’t have any more beds…”

Catherine felt tears well in her eyes. They were going to die. They were going to freeze to death in the snow. Jason would never be more then five-- no. 

_No_. 

She had one option left to her. She would take him to the hospital. They would take him. The least she could do was make sure he wouldn't have the same fate as her. 

“But-- we have some space in the rec room. It’s-- it’s heated.” The girl was looking at Jason nervously, seemingly unable to turn the child back out into the cold.

Catherine gasped, trying to hold in a sob. She reached out to thank the girl, but stopped herself before she could touch her. “Thank you.”

The words were little more than a horse whisper, but she had never meant anything more than the gratitude she felt in that moment. This was the difference between life and death. This was-- it was _everything_. 

Jason shuffled closer to her and for the first time in weeks-- as if he understood how important it was that they stay-- smiled. 

“Let’s get you something to eat huh?” The girl asked. Sarah. Catherine realized. She had a name tag. Sarah. She closed her eyes and thanked God for her. 

Sarah gave them a short run down of rules and pointed out the bathroom and dining room before leading them into the kitchen itself. 

“I’m afraid the cook’s gone home, but we have sandwiches premade in here and some drinks that you can help yourself too. Normally we don’t let guests in here, but since is… so late…” Sarah trailed off with a shrug. “We have a dryer if you want me to up your stuff in it for you, for tomorrow?” She asked after a long moment.

Catherine shrugged off her backpack and dug out a set of clothes, wet from where the snow had leaked through the fabric of the bag. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Help yourself. There's coffee and coco packets on the counter and a hot water jug just over there if you want something warm to drink.”

Catherine nodded and watched her go with their coats and clothes. Jason slid on to a chair and just looked around silently. He pulled his knees up to his chest and leaned downs so his head was on them. 

Catherine stood forward and glanced in the fridge. Sure enough there were several stacks of sandwiches wrapped and ready to go inside. She pulled out two and moved over to make Jason a hot chocolate. She paused at the coffee packets. Instinct coffee. She sighed and put the packet down. She would rather tea. Her throat was killing her. But they had none, so she settled for just the water itself. 

Jason tore through his sandwich quickly and Catherine passed him hers. She wasn’t feeling hungry anyway and she was more than happy to see him full. 

When they were finished Catherine picked up their bag, deposited their trash in the bin and took Jason by the hand and lead him towards the door Sarah pointed out as the rec room.

The rec room turned out to be a small room at the back corner of the shelter. But it had an old love seat and Sarah had dug up several blankets and already laid them out for them on it. There were several books and board games stacked on a old and battered coffee table, but Catherine couldn’t even entertain the idea of playing anything with Jason tonight. 

He dropped his hand from hers and moved over to the books. She smiled. It was little but it was heaven. 

Catherine sank into the love seat slowly. She was exhausted. It hadn’t fully hit her until that moment just how much she needed to rest. Her feet were aching horribly and her legs were throbbing. Her arms were sore from carrying Jason and her neck was stiff from worry. On top of it all she had shivers and aches from her fever. 

Jason slowly made his way across the room towards her, a book in his hand. He took one look at her however and put it down. Catherine felt a pang in her chest. He looked around at the room nervously talking in the battered windows and water stains on the wall. He seemed to be less excited about the idea of staying the night, now that he was full. But then a sofa in a strange room was hardly a reassuring place to sleep. 

“Jammies. Come on.” She reached in the backpack and pulled out from a plastic bag a large t-shirt that had been Willis’ and some sweatpants and handed them to Jason. She quickly retrieved her own and changed. She turned to find Jason standing sadly in his pajamas. He was swimming in Willis’ old shirt. Her heart gave a sharp pang. Jason pulled the collar up to his face and sniffed it before letting it drop sadly. 

She sank back on the loveseat, “not smell like him anymore?”

Jason shook his head, tears built in his eyes.

She patted the worn fabric next to her and watched him sadly as he dragged his feet. She lifted her arm in invitation. She didn’t know what else to do, what else she could offer. He _deserved_ better. 

Jason pulled himself up next to her and huddled into her side. He was a furnace of heat. Catherine leaned back and covered them both with the blanket. He was so _hot_. But then perhaps it was the fever making her feel cold.

“Mom?” He whispered into the dark room. The only other sounds were the creeks of wind and the furnace. 

Her throat burned in protest as she opened her mouth. “Yes?”

“Can you sing?” He asked so quietly. Catherine felt a shiver run down her spine that had little to do with the weather. He used to use that voice when Willis was home, but-- She had never heard him so nervous to ask her for something. 

Catherine felt her heart stutter. She was the world’s worst mother, she wanted to sleep. She wanted to close her eyes and sleep for four and a half months until Willis was back. Until he could fix this mess he had left them in. But there was no one to bail her out. There was only her and her scared little boy. 

She cleared her throat, “Goodnight sweet--” 

A rough wet cough interrupted her. Catherine took deep ragged breaths waiting for the fit to subside and tried again. “Goodnight sweetheart, well it’s time to--”

Fit after fit broke the tune. Catherine lay gasping for breath. Jason looked up at her with tears falling silently down his face. She shook her head desperately trying to get the words out. As if the song would fix it, as if a tune would make it better somehow. If she could only sing him to sleep she wouldn’t be so horrible. She wouldn’t have failed him. He wouldn’t have to be sacred. But he was. 

He was terrified. 

“I’m--”

Jason pressed his hand into hers as if to tether her to life. 

“I’m so sorry.”

She closed her eyes. Her throat was burning and raw. It was horrible. She wondered if this is what all those books meant when they talked of women dying in the cold. It had sounded romantic, on paper. It had sounded peaceful. This was anything but. 

Her lips were split and dry, her whole body was freezing and her heart was pounding. 

Catherine turned her face so that her mouth was by Jason’s ear and whispered. The words came out uneven and broken. 

“I love you.”

She said it again, even though it hurt. Then again. It was nothing more than a whisper. She wanted it to be a comfort but it felt like goodbye. 

It felt like she wouldn’t be here in the morning. Her voice cracked and broke over the words over and over again

“I love you. I love you. I- I love- I lov.. I lo”

Her voice gave out and her mouth let out nothing but little puffs of air. Her throat hurt so badly. It was agony. 

A small sniffle broke the quiet. Catherine’s eyes fluttered open. Jason was still crying. His hand was still in hers. She squeezed it gently three times. _I love you . I love you. Even If I can’t say it. I do. I love you._

She did it over and over again until she had no strength left and when she ran out, she found more still. She wouldn’t leave. Jason needed her. She would stay if only out of the duty to love him. 

Three squeezes. 

Small and short. It was all she had, all she could give. But it had to be enough. It was tiny and insignificant. It was a greater burden than Atlas could bear. Still she bore it. They both drifted to sleep their hands still locked together.

Catherine wasn’t sure how, but she was still there when the sun rose. She blinked up at Jason, still curled on her chest. His hand hadn’t slipped from hers. She squeezed it gently three times. 

* * *

Bruce woke in a cold sweat. 

He bit back a scream as he shot up, throwing back his blankets. He looked around the room desperately trying to place it. The walls were a dark and rich grey. The bed frame was large and made of a heavy wood. It was… It was-- home. He was… home. Not. 

Bruce closed his eyes. He wasn’t in a cave, he wasn’t in a village, he wasn’t in a shelter, or some settler’s log cabin. He was _home_ in the manor. He was in his bed. He was in the twenty-first century. 

He was Bruce Wayne. 

He… But-- No. No. 

He squeezed his eyes tighter closed. He hated this. It had been weeks. He had been back for weeks, _months_ and it was still hard to remember, to sort out what was real, what was _here_ and _now_. It was still so difficult to remember what was Bruce Wayne’s thoughts and memories and what was time leaking through him. 

Bruce slowly let his body relax and his eyes open. This, this was real. This room, this moment. This house, this time, and place. He swung his legs out of bed and shakily stood. He was still so weak from his time lost… in time. He still had so much to do, so much to make up for. He made his way out into the hall and looked around. 

It was strange being back, nearly as strange as being gone had been. Sometimes it didn’t seem real. It certainly seemed less real then the dreams did at times. 

He paused in front of an old photograph. Alfred was standing next to Jason in it. They were stood holding a large sea bass. Jason couldn’t have been older than thirteen. Bruce stood looking at them for a long time. 

The dream couldn’t have been real. It was impossible. Bruce didn’t have the ability to see-- what the past? _No_. He couldn’t have known something like that. It had been a dream… a nightmare. 

Perhaps it was that of all his children he had seen Jason the least since his return. 

It wasn’t for lack of effort or want, that he hadn’t seen Jason as much as his other children, but rather the fact that Jason had been avoiding him avidly. Well, Bruce assumed he had been avoiding him. He hadn’t come to see him when Bruce had been bed ridden, he hadn’t answered his calls, and he hadn’t come to the door the time Bruce had--finally-- convinced Dick to drive him over to Jason’s apartment. 

Bruce sighed and turned away from the photo. The manor was different since he had returned. The warmth had disappeared during his time away and been left the place to become an old and dusty mausoleum. He wondered if he should have insisted they stay at the penthouse. It didn’t feel like home to the boys here anymore, no matter how much Bruce still loved the manor. 

A shadow moved at the end of the hall. Bruce froze. 

“Tim?” He called softly. No voice answered. He shook off an odd chill and turned away.

He made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen. He started when he found he wasn't the only one unable to sleep. 

“Hey, B.” Dick smiled up from where he sat tucked away. He sat, his legs folded up against his chest. He looked too large to fit in the tight corner seat of the built in breakfast nook, where the gap between the table and wall was smallest, yet there he sat. He had a large bowl in front of him and a spatula in his hand. “You want some cookie dough?”

Bruce blinked, taking in his eldest son’s state of disarray, as Dick unfurled himself from his position to slide over on the bench near Bruce’s favorite chair, pulling both the bowl and spatula with him. His hair was wet and still dripping as if he hadn’t so much as run a towel through it, he was wearing what looked suspiciously like a pair of Bruce’s old sweets. Dark bags were under his eyes and he had a split in the corner of his mouth that looked very painful. 

Bruce crossed the room and sank into the old chair next to him. 

“Cookie dough?” He asked nervously. He had never known Dick to bake in the middle of the night. 

“Yeah.” Dick scooped the spatula into the bowl and pulled up a large chunk of the dough and offered the handle to Bruce. 

Bruce snorted at the mix of chocolate chips, nuts, and what looked suspiciously like butterscotch chips in the dough. He took a small bite and handed the spatula back. It was overly sweet, but good. Dick chuckled and scrapped the spatula clean with his teeth. 

“Bad night?” Bruce asked when Dick glanced back down at the bowl of still waiting dough. 

Dick hummed and sighed, setting the spatula down on the table. He leaned back and closed his eyes. “It was-- it was just long. It always feels long.”

Bruce nodded. “I’m sorry.”

Dick’s eyes blinked open. “Not your fault.”

Bruce bit his lip but didn’t comment. It _felt_ like his fault. It felt like it was all his fault: that Damian was skittish and had been raised away from them for so long, that Tim felt lonely and out of place, that Dick didn’t seem to smile much anymore and-- and that he was Batman. It felt like his fault that Jason wasn’t here-- even though Bruce couldn't pin that particular sin down for when he had disappeared they had been good. He thought they had been good at least. But Bruce didn’t say anything. Instead he reached forward and stuck a finger into the cookie dough. 

Dick’s face split into a wide grin “You know Alfred will get mad if he knows your fingers have been in that.”

“We both know that you’ve been double dipping that spatula all night.” Bruce smirked. 

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Al will throw this out the second he sees it. It’s a monstrosity.”

“It’s good.” Dick said, stifling a yawn. “So. What’s up?”

Bruce felt a stone drop in his gut as seriousness settled onto Dick’s face. It was strange with him. It was like he could flip a switch; one minute be laughing and the next have no hint of humor in his face or tone. Bruce wondered sometimes if it were really Dick who was the one who was hard to read and that they only could because he allowed it. 

Dick looked him over his eyes lingering on the bandages still on his arms, and the bruising on his face and neck. He had been healing much slower then normal, but Bruce figured traveling through time on omega radiation was bound to have lots of seen and unseen consequences. 

“Dreams.” Bruce grunted. He turned to look at the kitchen, anything to get away from Dick’s all to knowing gaze.

Dish’s were staked on the counter neatly on towels to dry and the granite was clean if not still slightly wet. Dick had evidently cleaned up after himself. 

“Like _before_ or--” Dick cut off suddenly and Bruce whipped around to face him. 

“Dick?”

“It’s nothing. I just remembered I was supposed to do something for work. I’ll do it later though. It’s fine.” Dick waved his hand dismissively, but he looked so tired and weighted down all of a sudden. 

Bruce wondered if it was the light or if there was actually a single grey hair on his temple. His stomach churned at the thought. He was too young for that surely. 

“So the dreams are they like _normal_ bad dreams, toxin the walls are leaking dreams or something else?” Dick asked, pushing the bowl and spatula aside. 

Bruce watched as the bowl moved rattling as it went. It was in that split second he decided. He couldn’t add more to Dick’s plate. “Just bad dreams. Turns out I’m not so into dinosaurs when they’re chasing me.”

Dick looked at him for a long moment and Bruce held his breath waiting for him to call the bluff. But then he blinked and the moment was gone. 

“Did you really see dinosaurs while you were gone? Because if you ran into some that would do it.”

“No, but there was a pack of wild dogs.” Bruce exhaled slowly and forced a small smile. 

It had probably just been a dream anyway. 


	2. Seeking a Place to Hide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so warnings for this: Bad dad and Bad husband Willis, Some domestic abuse (mainly emotional, but some pushing), implied violence (not of a main character), mentions of homelessness, and general heaviness from a very serious situation (for Catherine and Jason) 
> 
> I will put a summery of what happens in Catherine's section in the end notes if you want to skip it. 
> 
> Bruce's sections are without additional warnings.
> 
> I would also like to say sorry in advance, this wasn't meant to be as angsty as it came out to be. Bb, I am extra sorry.

It’s a learned behavior from a lifetime of fears,

To tuck into the corners and keep out of sight. 

But somehow in the dark our tears come to light. 

\-- It’s only hide and seek if I’m found. 

* * *

Bruce wandered around the manor aimlessly until he finally settled in the sunroom. He sank into an old rocking chair facing the windows and looked out over the back of the estate. Bruce didn’t often come in here anymore. As a child he could remember his mother coming out here to read. But since her death the space had remained mostly unused. Except for Jason. 

Bruce used to find Jason tucked away in the most unusual places inside the manor, but the sunroom might have been one of the most popular places for him to hide. Perhaps hide wasn’t so apt a description, for Bruce could find him here rather easily, but the space held a short of quiet that Bruce had often-- in those early years-- be too afraid to break. 

Bruce pushed his feet slightly to start moving the chair back and forth. How often, he wondered, did Jason come in here as a child and sit in this very spot? Did Jason come in here to watch the sun come and go? Or perhaps it was the birds he had watched. 

Bruce wished he had dared to ask him. He had spent far too long scared to mess up, that he often didn’t even let himself try. And Bruce had wanted badly to try, to try to be there for Jason, to show him he loved him, to be a good father when he had already had such a… shortage of goodness. But as if often did, Bruce had allowed his head to get in the way. 

Why couldn’t he have just come in and sat with him? Would they be closer now if he had? Would that have been enough to change the way Jason was ignoring him now? 

Bruce had fished for answers and asked both Dick and Alfred directly what he had done. Alfred had been just as baffled by Jason’s avoidance of him, but Dick had merely shuffled nervously and told him it wasn’t his place to say. Bruce closed his eyes and wished he could go back in the time stream one more time if only to come in here and sit with Jason. To ask him what it was about this room that he loved. 

Bruce knew that the manor grounds were much the same, since Jason’s time as a boy here, but he couldn’t help but wonder at the little differences-- differences Bruce could no longer see. 

Were the birdfeeders always the same? He couldn’t remember if there had always been a red hummingbird feeder attached to the side of the house. He  _ did  _ know Alfred had added to them since returning to the manor from the penthouse, but he didn’t know if that included the three he could see hanging from a tall willow, just a dozen meters away from the patio. And he wasn’t sure if it had been Dick or perhaps Tim who had broken the old bird bath now. 

Bruce hated not remembering. He was sure that he knew these things once upon a time. But after having his memory wiped and fighting his way back to this time, his mind still felt...jumbled. 

Bruce reached over to scratch his arm through the bandage. Were Alfred or Damian to see him, they would tell him off. He sighed and forced his hands onto the rocking chairs armrest. 

The sun was just peeking up over the horizon. Bruce felt his eyes growing heavier and heavier. The room was still cool and smelled like earth and fresh air. It was almost like being back in that old log cabin. Bruce wondered what had happened to the people he left behind. All the people who had helped him while he had been adrift in the timesteam. Maybe he would try and find records of them. Just to know. 

A goldfinch landed on the window sill, just as Bruce felt his eyes slip closed. 

* * *

Catherine rubbed her temples as Jason bounced up and down on his heels. “I don’t know Jason. I-- can you just... “

“But do you think Dad will  _ like  _ it?” Jason asked a whine seeping into his voice. 

Catherine couldn’t care less if Willis liked the picture. She looked around the very small apartment that they had now spent just over three months in. While it was better than the shelter her and Jason had been staying at for most of Willis’ stint in prison, she wasn’t sure it was worth the price. 

At first she had been relieved to let Willis take over, but his solutions seemed to dig them into unsavory holes. 

Catherine glanced at the picture Jason had drawn. It was sweet really, it was a horrible crayon portrait of the three of them. Jason had even drawn what looked like a dog. Catherine sighed and took the paper from his hands. 

“How about we put it on the fridge, huh?” She turned her back trying to keep from imagining the hurt that would be in Jason’s eyes when Willis inevitably ignored it. 

“Okay.” Jason said quietly. “Mom, are… are you mad?” 

Catherine froze her hands, still holding the magnet and paper. She forced herself to turn. “Mad?”

“I can make you one too.” Jason said, picking at the him of his shirt and not looking at her. 

Catherine blinked. She knelt down so that she was level with Jason’s face. “I would love a drawing if you want to make me one, but I don’t need it. I got all I need right here.” She poked him gently in the chest and then quickly flipped her wrist up to swipe at his nose. 

Jason smiled shyly at her and bit back a giggle. 

“Why don’t you find something on TV and I’ll see if I can get dinner going.” Catherine stood smoothing down his hair as she did. 

Catherine watched Jason nervously out of the corner of her eye as she pulled out a box of mac and cheese. He was flipping through channels unenthusiastically. She knew she should be more attentive, more affectionate. But the last year had burned her out. Between losing their home, bouncing shelter to shelter-- until she had been able to find a women's shelter aimed at helping families find housing and jobs-- it had become harder and harder to focus on keeping Jason happy. 

In turn, Jason had slowly become more and more quiet. He had never been boisterous or even bouncy. Catherine worried that Willis’ return into their lives had done more harm than good. While she still had the job at the bakery, they had moved out of the shelter into a… less than savory part of Gotham. The apartment was owned by a friend of a friend, or so Willis had said. 

Catherine wasn’t sure she believed it. Willis had returned… different. He was less affectionate to both her and Jason, not that he had ever been a very tender man, but his softer edges were razors now. Catherine peaked in the fridge and sighed when she realized they didn’t have butter for the macaroni. She licked her lips and added a little more milk then it called for instead. 

“Mom?” Jason called, his voice much closer than it should have been if he was still on the ratty sofa. “Mom, can we go to the park to--”

The door flew open with a bang. Catherine jumped and pulled Jason to her. 

“Cathy!” Willis’ voice filled the small apartment along with the rather strong smell of chewing tobacco. 

Catherine’s grip on Jason loosened slightly. “In here.” she called lightly.

“Cathy, I--”

“Hi, Dad!” Jason pulled himself from her hands and darted toward the man’s legs. Willis, still moving towards them, swore as Jason latched on to his hips and put his small arms around him as far as they could reach. 

“Jay, not now. I need your mom to--” He patted Jason once and then pushed past him. 

“Dad, I made you--”

“I said not now!” Willis swore colorfully and Jason jumped back as if stung. 

“What do you need, Will?” Catherine stepped forward quickly trying to keep her voice even. 

“I got the boss coming over tonight.” He turned to her with wild eyes. 

Catherine glanced at the stove and sighed. “I’ll order in. Do you know what they like?”

Catherine spent the next few hours cleaning and scrubbing the place. She put Jason to bed as soon as he finished his dinner and set about setting out the dishes she had ordered so that the place looked nice. It wasn’t until 8:30 that there was a knock on the door. 

Catherine rushed over and yanked it open with a smile plastered on her face, until she saw who was at the door. 

There were few people in Gotham that you avoided at all costs. And this-- this was differently one of them. She felt suddenly cold and her smile froze on her face. 

“Hello.” Her voice squeaked slightly. 

She stepped aside and felt her heart pounding in her chest. These men had scars on one side of their face declaring their allegiance to none other than Two-Face. Willis came around the corner looking a little pail. Catherine backed up into the apartment and grabbed Willis’ arm. 

“Please make yourselves at home. I just need to borrow Willis for a moment.” She pulled him into the kitchen and spun round to face him. 

He opened his mouth in question but Catherine didn’t wait for him to ask.

“Willis!” Catherine hissed between clenched teeth in a low whisper. “Are you insane?”

Willis fixed her with a chilling glare and Catherine had to fight the urge to step back from him. 

“I’m doing this for us.” He growled. “You couldn’t even put food on the table without me.” He swore under his breath, calling Catherine a string of names that would have once made her turn pink. “You couldn’t even keep a roof over your heads. So how dare-- How dare you call me crazy. I’m doing this for you and Jason.” his voice was low, but somehow it rang in her ears.

Catherine felt a chill come over her. She couldn’t breath. She couldn’t think. Willis was right. She  _ hadn’t  _ been able to do it alone. But… But this--  _ This  _ was desperation that even she could have never dreamt of. Not even those horrid nights sleeping behind a dumpster on seventh street. She glanced over Willis’ shoulder at the men behind him. They looked-- they looked normal. Like people she would pass on the street-- apart from the jagged lines down their faces.

“I don’t--” 

Willis pushed her back further into the kitchen and kept going. Catherine winced when the small of her back banged into the counter. “You don’t nothing, Cathy. You do what I say, when I say it and maybe, just maybe we get back on our feet and out from the hole  _ you  _ put us in!” 

Catherine felt tears welling in her eyes. She opened her mouth to object, when a chilling voice filled the room. Willis froze, his face still inches from her. 

“Well this sure is a dump.” 

Willis jumped away from her as if elected. He hurried back into the living room, and Catherine very slowly followed. 

Her eyes landed on Two-Face the second she was around the door frame.

The man swept through the living room and sank onto the sofa, stretching out. His arms lay on the back of it draped casually as if he owned the place. Catherine realized with a horrible pang, that he probably did.

His two toned suit, stood out oddly on the faded and stained sofa. Two-Face looked around sneering. His face was half twisted in a horribly smug way, as his gaze fell on Catherine and Willis still half standing in the kitchen. 

“Can I offer you a drink?” Willis stuttered, recovering first. “Beer, water, whiskey?”

Catherine did her best not to move. But then she saw a small mop of black hair out of the corner of her eye. Suddenly it was as if her skin was on ablaze and ants were crawling over her. Jason was standing in the doorway of his bedroom rubbing his eyes sleepily. If he took just four steps he would be visible to the guests. 

A steel she hadn’t known she possessed settled in her gut. She had to get him out of here, she needed to make sure Two-Face never saw him. 

She heard the rumors on the streets about what Two-Face had done to Robin not even a year ago. She knew this man had no qualms hurting a child. Two-Face hadn’t seen Jason yet. He could still be safe. He could still be protected. 

Catherine stepped forward past Willis, “Well you gentlemen have a wonderful night I’m going to turn in early.” 

She fought the urge to run and push Jason back into his bedroom. She forced her legs to walk a normal pace, she could feel all of their eyes on her. Her heart pounded against her ribs, threatening to give her away from how loud it was. 

Jason opened his mouth, and Catherine sent him the slightest shake of her head. She prayed he would understand, don’t talk, don’t move, don’t make a sound. She was almost to the edge of the sofa. She was feet from Two-Face. His burned and twisted side looked far worse up close. She took another step.

“Oh… Miss?” Two-Face turned so that his horrible smile was now directed at her. 

Catherine froze, one foot half off the ground. 

“Thank you for the hospitality.”

“It’s an honor sir.” She gave a short nod and slipped around the corner. She put one hand over Jason’s mouth and picked him up in single smooth motion. The door clicked closed behind her and she could feel her panic rising. 

Two-Face was in her home. A child murderer was in her home. Well, she wasn’t sure he had  _ killed  _ Robin, but… he hadn’t been seen in months. And Batman… Batman had been a demon since the rumors started. It went to reason that Two-Face’s claims, that the boy hero was dead, were true. 

“Mom?” Jason whispered around her hand. 

Catherine locked eyes with her son and glanced at the window. She wondered if Batman knew that Two-Face was loose. 

She looked around the room in search of anything that could help her. His room didn’t have much in it. He had a small stack of library books next to a mattress flat on the floor. He had a folding chair and an old table that he called his work desk. 

She crossed the room on tiptoes, and set him on the mattress weighing her options. She could try and slip out the window, they were only a few stories up, she could probably do it, but-- Jason would have to hold on to her back and at six he would have a hard time managing it. She could try and barricade them in but it might cause too much noise. She grabbed the folding chair and very slowly and carefully put it under the handle of the door. 

Jason watched her silently. His breath was shallow and coming out in short bursts. Catherine smiled and tried her best to look unworried. 

She, still on her tiptoes, moved over to the window and looked out. She could probably toss Jason onto the fire escape, it was only a few feet, but then it might be too loud. 

She swallowed. She would just have to reach somehow. They couldn’t stay here, not while Two-Face sat on the other side of the door. 

A small hand was suddenly on her back. Catherine jumped, and turned to face Jason who had somehow crossed the room without her noticing. 

“What are you doing?” Jason whispered nervously. 

“I-- We’re going to play a game.” Catherine said slowly. “We’re… we’re going to sneak out and get milkshakes, but-- But we can’t let Daddy hear us.”

Jason glanced nervously at the door. “Why?” 

“Because.. Then we won’t have won.” Catherine invented wildly. “You want to win the game right, Jason?” 

Jason nodded. “Are we going to get Dad one?”

Catherine blinked. “Maybe. But only if we win.” She crossed the room and grabbed his coat and backpack out of the closet quickly. She hesitated before grabbing a handful of books from the stack by the mattress and stuffing them inside. They would have to be out late anyway. 

The window was harder to open then Catherine anticipated, but after several minutes of pulling and praying it slid open just enough for Catherine to squeeze through. 

Once she was on the other side of the window, and her feet were wedged into the sill she reached for Jason to hand her the backpack. He slid it through wordlessly. 

Catherine leaned as far as she dared and dropped it onto the fire escape. She never was more grateful that there wasn’t a window in the living room and only a small one in the kitchen. The backpack lay on the fire escape and Catherine worked her way back to an upright position so that she could reach for Jason. 

“Okay. Just slide out.” 

Jason bit his lip and his fingers wound in the edges of his sleeves. He looked at Catherine nervously, and reached forward. He was halfway out the window when he looked down and panicked. 

His eyes went wide and suddenly he was scrambling back away from the edge. Catherine reached forward to grab him, to pull him bodily from the room, but a high pitched wine broke from his mouth and she let go. 

Jason scurried back away from the window shaking his head. Tears were bubbling at the corners of his eyes. 

“Jason. Come on.” Catherine forced her face into a smile. She waved for him to come forward, but he didn’t move. 

“I-- I don’t.. I don’t want to play.” Jason’s voice was getting louder by the second. “I don’t want to play. I don’t want to play.” 

Catherine never moved so quickly in her life. She squeezed back through the gap in the window and into the room silently. She was in front of him and pulling him to her chest before she could even breath to whisper back. 

“Shhhh. Shhhh.” She rocked him and prayed no one in the other room had heard him speak. “It’s okay. It’s just a game, you can do it.” 

Catherine felt tears falling down her face. They made her shiver. It felt as if she had walked through a giant cobweb. 

“Mom, I don’t want to play.” Jason whispered back into her shirt. 

She closed her eyes. “We don’t have to play. We’ll stay here. Just--” She looked around desperate for anything. She picked him up and grabbed the pillow from the bed. “We’ll have a sleepover instead.” 

She set Jason down in the closet and handed him the pillow. She quickly crossed the room to grab his comforter and at the last moment snatched up another book from the stack he had. She crawled into the closet with him and very slowly shut the door. 

“She pulled Jason over onto her lap and settled her back against the pill and the wall. Jason slowly pulled the blanket up so that both of their legs were covered. 

It was then that Catherine realized with the door closed it was too dark to read. She bit her lip to stop a sob escaping her mouth. Jason shifted nervously on her lap and pulled the comforter up higher on his chest. 

“Mom why--”

A shout came from the living room and Catherine stiffened. Two more shouts followed. And a series of bangs. 

Catherine scooted as far back into the closet as she could. Jason seemed to shake in her grasp. She closed her eyes and buried her nose in Jason’s hair. They sat in the dark listening to the men in the other room screaming. The shouts were angry and muffled by the walls and door between them, but there was no mistaking them for what they were. 

“Mom?” Jason wined suddenly when a very loud thump was heard. 

Catherine put her palm over his mouth. “Shhhhh.” She whispered in his ear. He didn’t speak again, but she didn’t move her hand. After a while she realized it was wet. He was crying. Tears slipped down between her palm and his face, making it slippery and wet. With her other hand she searched for his but couldn’t find it. She settled her hand on his chest. She tapped him three times there lightly, then again. 

He was still shaking, but he didn’t seem as tense. She tapped him again. The pattern the same each time, one tap for I, one tap for love, and one tap for you. 

The only sound in the closet was their breath, as they waited. Waited for the fight or whatever was happening in the living room to end. 

Neither of them slept. They only sat and waited. 

* * *

“Father?” 

Bruce jerked and smacked his hand on the air rest of the rocking chair trying to get up. His heart was raising and his mind was jumbled. He turned wildly looking for the reason he had woken. His eyes landed on Damian. 

Damian stood frozen in the door of the sunroom, a book in his hand. He was looking at Bruce with a pinched expression. 

“Damian…” Bruce looked around his heart hammering in his chest still. It had felt so real-- It had… It was a dream. He shook his head trying to get the horrors of that…  _ dream  _ out of his mind. “I feel asleep, I'm sorry.” 

Damian made no move to come further into the room. “You were--” 

Bruce frowned as Damian rocked back on his heels. “I was what?”

Damian paused for a long moment before licking his lips. “You were crying. I heard you in the hallway.” 

Bruce raised a hand to his face and found there were indeed tears on it. “It wasn’t a very good dream.” Bruce said finally. 

Damian shifted his weight back and forth between his feet uncomfortably. “That is...unfortunate. Richard says hot coco fixes bad dreams, but I don’t think it really works.”

Bruce tilted his head and sank back into his chair. He was suddenly very tired. “No, I suppose it doesn’t always work, I tend to do better when I can spend time with someone after one.” 

Damian frowned. “You --” His jaw snapped shut. “Well, I can go get Richard then.”

Bruce smiled. “No, that’s okay. What are you reading?” He asked tentatively. 

“It’s not a novel.” Damian said suddenly red in the face.

Bruce refocused on the book in Damian’s hand. He blinked. It was a black bound book, he didn’t understand where the sudden embarrassment had come from, then he spotted the pouch half hidden behind it. An old pencil case. A sketchbook then. 

“Your grandmother used to draw.” Bruce said suddenly. 

Damian’s eyes snapped up and locked on his. 

“Your… mother?” He took a very small step into the room. 

“Yes. She had a studio, for a long time. It-- I had Alfred box it up when--, but I’m sure we still have it all.” Bruce said thoughtfully. It would be in the attic he supposed. 

“Was she-- was she accomplished?” Damian nervously set down in an old wicker chair just feet from Bruce’s rocking chair. 

“I think so. She has some things at the gallery in town. But I’m not very… I’ve never learned much about art other than case stuff.” Bruce admitted. 

Damian stiffened slightly and Bruce realized his misstep. 

“I would love to learn more about it really. But Alfred’s always much too busy to explain it all to me.” Bruce said quietly. 

“Richard put me in lessons when-- when you were away. I would be happy to help you learn some if you… if you wanted.” 

Bruce smiled. “I would like that. Are you working on something now or…”

Damian went pink again. 

“You of course don’t have to tell me. I would be happy to hear and see it through if you wanted to, but only if you--”

“Todd, says that sometimes you can see rabbits and deer out the windows in here, so I thought I would try and see if I could see any.” Damian said in a rush. 

Bruce blinked. He hadn’t known Damian and Jason spoke. “Yeah, he used to spend a lot of time here reading.” 

Damian nodded in agreement. Bruce felt a stone settle in his gut. So Jason and Damian must have spoken a lot. “When did Jason tell you about the deer?” 

Bruce hoped his voice came out even and unconcerned. 

“I was talking to him last night.” Damian turned towards the window and flipped his book open. 

Bruce swallowed back the hurt and smiled. It didn’t matter if Jason was avoiding him as long as he was okay. “How’s he doing?” 

Damian shrugged. “Todd is fine. He needed Richard’s help on a case and so I called him with the details, as Richard had more important things to take care of.”

Bruce frowned. “Jason is important.” 

Damian glanced up from where he was making a quick sketch of circles and rectangles. Bruce glanced out the window and realized the shape corresponded to different things just outside the window. A series of circles made the tree, and rectangles formed the birdhouses beneath it. 

“Of course Todd is important, but a report is hardly worth his time to deliver. He has enough to do as it is.” Damian turned back to his drawing. 

Bruce let the silence ellipse over them and sat listening to nothing but the stork of Damian’s pencil and the sounds of birds outside. 

The worries and anxiety from the nightmare eased slightly, but there was still a horrible sinking suppression in his gut about it. It certainly didn’t help that every now and then, he could see blurry figures moving around the garden out the window. But he would always blink and they would be gone. So he instead focused on the light humming Damian had started. 

Bruce wondered if the boy realized he was doing it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summery:
> 
> Catherine is surprised when Willis comes home and says his boss is coming over. It turns out he is now working for Two-Face and Catherine, fearful of what might happen to Jason, tries to escape out the window of Jason's bedroom with him, while Willis and Two-Face are in the living room. Jason doesn't want to climb out the window and so Catherine locks them in the bedroom closet in the dark, while listening to a fight break out in the other room.


End file.
